


Begin Again

by writeonclara



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 08:45:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14445624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeonclara/pseuds/writeonclara
Summary: When Stamford first told John about Sherlock, John thought,I've done this before.





	Begin Again

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Начать всё сначала](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14533830) by [Little_Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn)



When Stamford first told John about Sherlock, John thought, _I've done this before_.

Instead he said, "Yes. Tomorrow. Let's meet him tomorrow."

Back in the room that was slowly sucking away his entire pension, John examined himself critically in the mirror. He looked--wrong, somehow. There was something missing. Perhaps his previous incarnation had colossal eyebrows. He crooked his fingers and put them near his hairline, then cracked a grin. No, that wasn't right. 

Then he moved one of his crooked fingers under his nose.

That night, lying in bed with his arms tucked under his head, he thought about cobblestone streets and walking sticks.

* * *

"That's an old friend of mine, John Watson."

John held his hand out, staring into eyes that weren't as gray as they should have been. His hair was curly, this time, but he was still so very tall. Something inside of John was slowly splintering away, revealing an unknown piece of him that had always tugged at the edge of his consciousness. He wanted to grab that thin wrist, to examine his arm for those ever present track marks, to wrap his arms around that familiarly strange body. It terrified him. It thrilled him.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" 

This was Sherlock Holmes. This was not _Holmes_.

"Which time?"

John could count on one hand all of the times he has successfully derailed the great Sherlock Holmes. He thought, with a small smile, that he might be able to start on another hand in this lifetime. Sherlock Holmes (this was not _Holmes_ , and yet he could not think of him as just _Sherlock_ ) stood very still, strange pale eyes searching every minute detail of John's face.

"You've only been once," he said, slowly. Almost--puzzled. John smiled, a little sadly.

"So I have," he said, ignoring the small surge of disappointment. If Holmes remembered, he was doing a spectacular job at hiding it. He didn't think Holmes was acting this time--it would be far too cruel of his dearest friend.

John shook his head, dislodging the stranger's thoughts and memories that were pervading his own.

"Go on then," he said, leaning against the table, "impress me."

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Stamford snap a surprised look at him. He chose to ignore his old friend, focusing all of his attention on Sherlock Holmes.

Holmes--Sherlock--set his beaker down, folding his arms over his chest. "It's not some sort of parlor trick, Watson," he said, and oh, John _ached_. When John didn't say anything further, Holmes began his usual, brilliant deductions. He had that same energy his Holmes had, but he channeled it differently. Holmes had talked with his hands. Sherlock Holmes stared at John imperiously.

When he finished with his deductions, he looked at John expectantly, challengingly, and with familiar asperity. John didn't hide his usual wonder. Sherlock Holmes did not fail to astound John Watson, in any form.

"That was--brilliant. Bloody brilliant."

In this lifetime, Sherlock Holmes apparently did not get enough praise. He stared at John--gawked at him, really, then sniffed and looked away.

"You may move in with me," he said.

“It would be my greatest pleasure," John said, and smiled.


End file.
